


on such a full sea are we now afloat

by orphan_account



Series: legend!verse [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 17:14:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2118156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn't know what wakes him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on such a full sea are we now afloat

Dean doesn't know what wakes him up.

It might've been a nightmare, but he doesn't remember dreaming. He sits up and scrubs a hand across his eyes. His tongue feels heavy and dry in his mouth, and he leans forward, rubbing his neck. He needs a glass of water, probably, that's a thing that he should get.

He stumbles out of bed, pulls on a sweatshirt– why the hell is it always so  _cold_ in here– and opens his door, feeling along the wall for a light switch. When he flicks it on, squinting against the light (ow, fuck), he sees Cas. And Dean has no idea what the fuck Cas is doing. He's got one ear pressed against the wall opposite from Dean's room, like he's listening for vibrations, or something.

"Cas."

Cas glances at him, but doesn't take his ear off the wall. Dean presses his fingers against his forehead. "Cas, what the hell are you doing?" This is decidedly weirder than History Channel. At least watching History Channel is, like, a vaguely normal thing to do. Listening to wall vibrations while Dean's asleep is not.

Cas offers him a tiny, tiny smile. "Listening," he says.

"Okay. Thanks. That's helpful." It's not. It's not helpful.

Cas clearly isn't going to offer any more insight on  _why_ he's listening to Dean's walls, so Dean gives up and heads to the kitchen. It's four in the morning, nearing five, so Dean figures maybe he'll watch TV until it's time to shower and drive to work.

He turns it on, and, lo and behold, it's the History Channel.

Dean considers calling Cas into the living room, but he doesn't. He sits on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, and he thinks maybe he can feel Cas in the other room. Like, that's weird, except, not, really, because Salem's curriculum didn't stress aura studies all that much but Dean kind of feels that. Senses it.

No, it's probably weird. Not as weird as, for example,  _listening to someone's walls._ But it's still weird.

Cas wanders in half an hour later, and drops down next to Dean on the couch. Very close, so that their knees are touching, and so are their shoulders, and Dean's throat closes up so he pulls his knees to his chest and practices the kind of breathing his professor Pamela always swore by during séances. Oh _._ Oh, God. "Why didn't you tell me you were watching the History Channel?" Cas asks, petulantly, and Dean doesn't actually know the answer to that question.

"Why were you listening to my walls?" Dean asks, opting for the change-the-subject-and-hope-they-don't-notice tactic, which has worked approximately zero times in his young life.

Cas hums a little, and suddenly there's a light, filling the room, gold and beautiful and the TV spazzes out and turns off.

"You are always looking for answers," Cas says, and all of a sudden the golden light dies and the TV turns back on and Cas doesn't say another word.

—

"So. Got any plans for your birthday?" Charlie asks, at the beginning of January, just as Dean's getting ready to leave for the night. Cas fidgets next to him, examining his sleeves, and Dean can't help but lay a hand on his arm, briefly. He tells himself, confidently, that it's because that kind of shit drives him insane. Cas stills immediately.

"Not so much, no," Dean says. And then, for some godforsaken reason, he looks over at Cas. He doesn't mean to do it, really, but he does. He thinks Charlie probably sees it and suddenly he can't breathe, because, Jesus Christ, the whole fucking world probably knows that he's head-over-heels for a  _god._ What  _are_ his birthday plans, that's a good question. Probably watching History Channel at 4am with his godly roommate. Maybe with pie. Probably that, Charlie. Sounds like a party, doesn't it? Shit,  _shit,_ this is, he can't, wow, this is– this is probably, like,  _illegal_ _._ On, on– on a godly level. You can't run around falling in love with gods, who does that, what is  _wrong_ with him, shit shit  _shit._ "See you later, Charlie," Dean chokes out, because he needs fresh air. Breathe. Breathe in. Exhale. That's how it works, right? Dean can't– he can't really remember right now. He grabs Cas's wrist and hauls him bodily outside the staff door. Breathe, Dean. Breathe.

"What's a birthday?" Cas asks, when they're safely in the car, and all the oxygen presses out of Dean's throat and he's going to fucking lose it, right here.

He steadies himself, grips the steering wheel. "It's– I can't believe you don't– it's, uh, it's like a celebration. Of the day you were born."

"January 24th." Cas hums. Dean doesn't ask how. "What kind of celebration?"

"Depends on what you like."

"What do you like?"

"Nothing," Dean says quickly. "I like peace and quiet. And pie, maybe."

Cas stares at the side of Dean's head. "That," he announces, "is not much of a celebration."

"Well, there's not much worth celebrating." It comes out and he didn't mean it, it comes out wrong and it makes the car heavier and he gets the sudden, odd urge to press his face against the glass of the car window. It'd be cold, like clear ice. Inhale, push air inside your lungs. He needs to breathe.

Cas doesn't say anything for the rest of the ride. Dean doesn't ask him to.

—

"Cas just asked me what he's supposed to get you for your birthday," Victor says, cornering him and smirking. Fuck. Charlie informs him of the same when he comes by the front desk to check on her. He sees Jo and Cas talking in the hallway, and Jo smirks and waves and that's pretty much an affirmation.

He calls a meeting at the lunch break. Cas is off somewhere, probably breaking Dean's coffeemaker, or something like that. Ruby's at the front desk, because, Dean's kind of afraid of  making her do anything. Like, come to meetings, for example. And, hey, no shame. Ruby could probably scare the piss out of Chuck Norris.

"Keep it professional," he says. Then, "And you all tell him I don't want  _anything_ for my birthday, we clear?"

Charlie nods. Jo and Victor share a Look, which is never,  _ever_ good news. God. Goddammit. "Crystal," says Jo, and then dismisses herself.

—

His birthday passes. There's pie, and History Channel, and Cas, which is everything he wanted. Cas gives him a rose he picked up somewhere. Says that Charlie explained to him what a present was.

Dean doesn't tell him what roses mean. He puts it in a vase, with water. It dies within the week.

—

In the middle of March Dean figures Cas needs a hobby. Like playing cello or collecting bottle caps or going vegan.

He decides to give him a rigorous pop culture education, because, like, Cas is kind of a tragedy. He doesn't even know who Han Solo is. Dean thought Han was kind of universal. (Ha. Ha, ha. Star Wars pun.  _Universal._ Dean is hilarious, screw you.)

Dean starts him off with  _Die Hard_ , because he figures it's, like, the pinnacle of all filmmaking. Ever. Then he heads for old favorites ( _Caddyshack_ ) and some Steven Spielberg ( _Jaws_ ,  _Indiana Jones_ ). There is definitely some  _Terminator_ action. He steers very, very clear of romance. He doesn't trust himself quite yet.

Cas likes  _The Godfather,_ and, don't get Dean wrong, the Godfather trilogy is fuckin' amazing, but he wasn't expecting Cas to enjoy it as much as he does.

Cas goes  _nuts_ for Star Wars. Dean's never loved him more.

Sam suggests the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Nerdy, okay, but Dean'll take it. People make jokes about "my precious" all the goddamn time. _  
_

Charlie says Harry Potter, which, sure, okay.

They do a lot– a  _lot_ _–_ of James Bond.

They watch E.T. Dean thinks Cas tears up a little, but he doesn't mention it.

Cas reads all day while Dean works, sitting next to the coffeemaker in the break room. He reads Vonnegut and Orwell and then he reads  _To Kill a Mockingbird_ and Dean sees the look on his face at the end and doesn't ask.

Dean explains things. Like Clint Eastwood, and Morgan Freeman. Like world politics and idioms. He explains disco, and Madonna. He doesn't really know what to say about modern music, except that he doesn't know a single freaking thing about it. Cas listens to the Top 40 station whenever he's in Dean's car. "I can't believe you're listening to this horseshit," Dean grumbles, but he doesn't change it.

—

Cas falls asleep on him one night. They're on the couch. It's hot, and sticky, and summer. August. It's Shark Week. Dean's favorite week.

When he wakes up, he's shocked. Disoriented. "What was that?" Cas asks. He reaches his fingers up, towards Dean's face. Dean's too surprised to push him away, but Cas's hand drops anyway.

He sits up slowly. "You," he says, distantly. "You had– you were. Like the sun, it hurt to look at you."

"A dream," says Dean, and explains dreaming.

 _Like the sun, it hurt to look at you,_ says the back of his mind.

He thinks about that.

—

It's September, and business is slow.

Dean sneaks into the break room and shows Cas an episode of  _Columbo_ on his laptop. "You get your sense of style from this guy?" he teases, and nudges Cas's shoulder.

Cas looks at him, surprised, like he's not sure what the touching was supposed to mean. Dean doesn't really know, either.


End file.
